


Take Me Home (Bucky's Blankie)

by CodeNameSergeantBarnes (Alphabetaomega)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aww clint, Comfort blanket, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deaf Clint, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends give advice, M/M, Meddling Friends, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sassy Steve, baby blanket, boner jokes, handicapped Bucky, match maker friends, post captain america the winter soldier, stupid Steve, supportive friends, toothrottingly sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphabetaomega/pseuds/CodeNameSergeantBarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Natasha had a bear named Pokey, Clint has his dog Lucky, Sam had a blue blanket with spaceships, Bruce carried a rock from his mother's garden, and Tony had a stuffed DNA nucleotide named Mr. Adenine. </p>
<p>Bucky is learning and Steve is just... confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Home (Bucky's Blankie)

“Couldn’t sleep?” Sam rubs his tired eyes, pointedly ignoring the spooked, kid-caught-with-his-hand-in-the-cookie-jar look on Bucky’s face. He shuffles into the kitchen, slippers dragging on Tony’s spotless linoleum.

“Forgot you were here.” Bucky grumbles, putting the carton of orange juice back on the fridge shelf.

The other man scans the area around Bucky for a used glass and when he doesn’t see one he sighs, “Yeah, well no point in thinking too hard about it. I’m leaving tomorrow… or today?” Sam glances at the digital clock on the stove and realizes that it’s just past 3am. He pulls two glasses from the cabinet, “I guess today, but I’ll be back later this week.”

Bucky nods, it’s a slight uncoordinated jerk of the head. His body language is more for Sam’s benefit than his own. He’s still learning how to react to people using gestures and expressions. Bucky doesn’t have to be told outright to know that his sniper stillness makes people uncomfortable.

“Want to hand me the OJ?” Sam phrases the question in such a manor out of habit.

The 14 months Bucky’s been at the tower and out of commission have been progressive. His rehabilitation has been a slow winding road filled with set backs and roadblocks, but he’s getting the hang of things.

“How do you drink this stuff?” Bucky fishes the carton out of the fridge and hands it to Sam.

Sam chuckles twisting the cap off and pouring the contents into the two clear glasses. “What, you don’t like a little pulp? Blame Steve.”

“No, that’s not it,” he shakes his head, “It just better be made with gold oranges given how expensive the shit is.”

“Old man.” Sam smiles and slides the glass over to Bucky. He takes a seat at one of the kitchen island stools.

They lapse into comfortable silence; Sam nursing the orange juice and flipping through one of the newspapers on the island, while Bucky sips his drink at the counter.

“Okay, man I got to ask...” Sam folds the paper shut and levels Bucky with a look. He points one long finger to the dull Atlantic blue cloth bunched in folds around Bucky’s neck and says, “Is that one of Steve’s paint rags?”

Bucky pulls at the makeshift scarf and avoids Sam’s gaze. “It was a pillow case before it was a paint rag,” he mutters.

“Yeah… a gag joke from Tony, I remember. Captain America pillowcases, haha so funny. But I also remember Steve ripping them up to use as paint rags for when he does his art thing.”

Doing his best to school his blush, Bucky’s eyes burn holes into his orange juice glass. “I don’t know.”

Sam studies the fabric. The piece of cloth was clearly once part of a bigger piece of cloth if the frayed ends were anything to go by. The edge of the Captain America shield peaks out from the folds just enough for Sam recognize. There doesn’t seem to be any paint on it, so maybe it was one of the rags Steve decided to save for a later date. It’s bunched up like a guard around Bucky’s chin.

“Hey,” Sam holds his hands up, “I’m just saying that you don’t strike me as a scarf kind of guy. No problem in that though, Hell, Clint loves scarves. I’m not one to judge.”

Bucky nods Sam’s way and deposits his glass in the sink. “Night,” Bucky says quietly, heading for the door.

“Night,” Sam responds before adding, “Oh yeah, Steve radioed in. He said that the mission should be wrapping up sometime in the next two days and that he should be home a little later this week.”

“Good,” Bucky grunts from the doorway, “Punk better come back in one piece.”

“How long has he been away?”

“A little over a week.”

Sam huffs, “In that case, no promises.”

Bucky lets himself frown and burrows his nose into the folds of the cloth.

His bare feet make no noise as he walks back to Steve’s bedroom, completely bypassing his own. He’s already tried sleeping in his own tonight and was shaken awake from vivid night terrors. He doesn’t even know why he tries to sleep in his own bed anymore, regardless of whether or not he gets nightmares; he always sleeps better in Steve’s room.

The ex-assassin shuts and locks the door with an audible click. He sighs deeply before depositing himself into the bed. The second his head hits the pillow he can feel his muscles uncoil like a spring.

The blankets, sheets, and pillows all smell like Steve. It’s a clean scent mixed with something sharp and warm. He breathes it in and lets the familiarity and comfort of the smell lull him to the begging’s of sleep.

The scent reminds him of what little memories he has of being Sargent Bucky Barnes Best Friend of Captain Steve Rogers, of the cold Brooklyn nights where they were too poor to afford heat so both boys would hunker down in one bed. Bucky was comfortable in that bed with too bony Steve leeching the warmth out of him.

Now that he’s Sargent Bucky Winter Soldier Barnes, Best Friends Who Sometimes Kiss with Captain Steve Rogers, he almost never feels comfortable. Almost. He felt safe in that bed before the war, and its taken him this long to realize just why. He feels safe in this bed too.

He tugs one of the frayed ends of the cloth with his metal hand and lets it slip free from around his neck. Feeling embarrassed because Sam was not suppose to see the fabric strip, he wads it up and shoves it under the pillow next to him.

Bucky dreams a dream that doesn’t turn into a nightmare and wakes up to the sun streaming into the room. He’s curled on his side, his metal arm glinting obnoxiously on the walls. The tomato red fabric has made its way out from under the pillow and is nestled along the crook of his neck. It smells like Steve. Like home.

For the 9th time in a row, Bucky leaves the rectangular rag carefully under the blankets of Steve’s bed, as he gets ready to go meet Natasha. He has no intention of leaving it there or for Steve to ever find it, but it’s the most logical place for him to keep it during the day. He’ll undoubtedly be back before Steve gets home to throw the cloth into his adjacent bedroom. That way when Steve arrives dead on his feet from his mission and Bucky goes to his own bedroom for the sake of keeping up appearances, he has a little piece of comfort with him.

* * *

“So,” Natasha wheezes, massaging a cramp in her side. “You have a baby blanket now?”

Bucky pauses from unwrapping his flesh and blood hand and licks the sweat off his lips. He stares at her, “I have a… what?”

“A baby blanket,” she responds with a cat-like stretch. Her shirt is soaked with sweat and her forearms are mottled lightly with red patches from trading blows. “A comfort blanket.”

“Natalia,” he starts.

“James,” she fires back, only using his real name when he uses hers. “It’s perfectly okay to have a comfort object.” She starts to unwrap her own hands and Bucky is thankful to have that piercing gaze of hers focused elsewhere.

“I don’t have a comfort object,” he protests.

“Oh, shove it.” Natasha throws a towel his way and picks one up for herself. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you slinking around with a piece of those pillow cases that Tony gave Steve, like a year ago.” She holds a hand up before he can interrupt, “And don’t think that I don’t know that you’ve been sleeping in Steve’s bed and cuddling with it every night.”

Bucky shoots her a glare that he hopes will make her pretty red-haired head pop off her shoulders. “I checked the room last night, it’s not bugged-,”

“-You think I need bug,” she waves him off, scoffing. “I’ve got Wilson for that.” Natasha ignores his glare and trades him a wink.

Bucky all but growls.

“If it makes you feel any better, I basically had to break Wilson’s hand to get any information out of him.”

Bucky throws the tape from his hand in the trash. Now he wishes that he had just hidden the rag-blanket-thing the moment he heard Sam come into the kitchen. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

Natasha shrugs and crosses her arms; the stance somehow transforming her from Natasha Romanoff and into Black Widow. “It’s okay,” she tells him seriously. “It’s okay to seek comfort in inanimate objects.” She pauses for a second, evaluating her wording and choosing to switch the word ‘children’ for the word ‘people’ before she continues, “It’s a tactic that a lot of people use to help lessen separation anxiety, stress, and discomfort.”

“It’s- uh, it… smells- it reminds me-,”

“Of Steve?” Natasha supplies helpfully. She notices the sudden flush of color on Bucky’s cheeks and decides to politely ignore it. “Its kind of like the same concept of one of those romance movies where the character sleeps with their significant others hoodie that was sprayed with cheap cologne or perfume. Pretty normal.”

Bucky looks at anything and everything that isn’t her and says, “Do, uh, do you have one?”

Her fingertips graze the warm metal pendant against the bottom of her collarbone, where a tiny delicate silver arrow rests. She knows it’s not really the same thing as having a blanket for comfort but it’s all she can think of.

Bucky’s eyes catch the movement and he nods in understanding.

They exit the gym and make their way to the showers.

“I used to have a bear,” she says, eyes glazing over in remembrance.

“A… bear?” Bucky questions.

Natasha rolls her eyes, “Not a real bear, you dumbass. A stuffed bear.” She goes quiet, “Unless the Red Room implanted those memories in me too, then its name was Pokey. I don’t remember what happened to him.”

Bucky studies her as she puts down her bag and turns the knob of the shower on. Memories of the KGB always have an odd affect on his friend, sometimes leaving her distant and cold.

He isn’t sure what he’s going to get from her today until she says, “You should just sleep in Steve’s bed all the time.”

“No,” he replies simply.

“Why not?” The redhead asks.

Natasha begins stripping off her work out clothes, only caring enough to turn away from Bucky.

“Because Steve deserves his own space.”

“Well… has he ever minded you being in his space?”

“No… but that’s because he’s a good person.”

Natasha laughs at him and steps in the shower, “Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t actually mind you being in there. You guys have some sort of relationship that surpasses being just friends. He literally packed up his entire life to go searching for you.”

Suddenly remembering that he is supposed to be showering as well, Bucky twists the knobs at his own stall, strips off his clothes and steps into the spray.

The Widow’s voice floats over the steam and the noise of both showerheads, “Don’t think that he doesn’t want you around. You always second-guess yourself when he leaves for long missions. He’s totally smitten with you, Barnes. Don’t play dumb. Besides, there’s a reason why his scent comforts you.”

Bucky washes himself with quick precision. “Can we not talk about this anymore?”

Natasha hums in the stall next to his.

The rest of the day is routine for him. It’s a Tuesday so he goes for a therapy appointment and then to lunch with Clint who happens to be free.

Sam’s wings aren’t ready so he’s literally grounded for another day or two until Tony can get them up and flying again.

Bucky retires to his and Steve’s floor early for lack of anything else to do. He goes straight to Steve’s bedroom and retrieves the red ‘blanket’ from underneath Steve’s bed covers. He feels a bit foolish, but then remembers what Natasha had said to him earlier about this kind of reliance being normal for people.

Slinging the blanket over his shoulders as if it were a towel, he makes his way to the kitchen to drudge something up for dinner.

Sleep comes easier than it has in a while.

* * *

The next night when the Avengers _sans Thor_ , have their weekly movie night nobody bats an eye when Bucky walks in with the blanket looped around his neck and plops himself right next to Natasha.

Tony looks over at the man with the blanket and gets as far as a, “Hey,” before Clint slaps him hard on the thigh. “Ow, Legolas!” Tony whines, completely missing Clint’s not so subtle way of telling him to shut up. “Isn’t that part of the gift I so kindly bestowed upon Captain Up-Tight last year?”

Bucky’s eyes slide over to him, “Yeah.”

“And you’re wearing it as a not-so-scarf, scarf?” To his credit, Tony looks genuinely confused.

Bucky chooses to ignore Tony in favor of resting his head on Natasha’s shoulder. The rest of the Avengers look from Bucky to the blanket to Tony and then back to Bucky. They don’t really seem to care all that much.

Clint thinks that it’s good to see Bucky attaching himself to things that aren’t 200lbs of super-soldier or food.

He has his hearing aids turned down low so he doesn’t quite catch the conversation, but judging from Bucky’s expression he could use a little saving. Thinking back to the conversation he had earlier with Natasha he tries, “I think my dog, Lucky might as well be my comfort blanket, you know? Like, I’ve cried on that dog, got snot on that dog, I’ve cuddled with that dog, he’s seen me drink straight out of the coffee pot, and he helps me with nightmares and keeps me calm.”

Tony turns to him and with an owlish gaze, he says with a raised voice, “Comfort blanket? Barton, what the hell? No one said anything about a comfort blanket?”

“Aww, ears.” Clint groans and turns his hearing aids back up. He spares an apologetic look at Bucky who looks like he’s mortified.

Natasha looks absolutely predatory, “Yes, Clint. No one said anything about comfort blankets.”

“I totally just didn’t hear the conversation right,” Clint backpedals. “Ears… you fail me yet again.”

“I had a comfort object,” Bruce chimes in from his spot on one of the loveseats. “It was a rock from my mothers garden. I kept it in my pocket everyday. It reminded me of her and of how happy gardening made her. The Other Guy lost it… it’s okay though. I make due.”

“I had a baby blanket. It was blue and had space ships on it, shit was rad.” Sam shrugs easily. “No biggie.”

“Okay… when did this turn into a confession circle? You bunch of sad sacks. Jesus, you people are going to give me gray hairs, I swear it on Peppers life. If everyone is done then I’d like to start the movie. Jarvis?”

“Right away, Sir.” The AI answers.

As the opening credits roll by, Tony pretends not to hear Rhodey shout from next to Sam, “Oh please, Tony like you don’t remember Mr. Molecule.”

“I don’t know what you are speaking of,” Tony crosses his arms.

“Mr. Molecule?” Bruce asks.

Tony gives his best friend a warning look, to which Rhodey answers, “He had this stuffed DNA nucleotide that he used to drag everywhere.”

“For your information it’s name was Mr. Adenine.” Tony says defiantly. “Now be quiet, James-Rhodey, you’re ruining the movie for James-Bucky.”

Bucky gives Tony the middle finger and Rhodey rolls his eyes. The room lapses into silence.

* * *

Steve arrives in the tower a few days later as promised.

“Before you say anything,” he holds his hands up in the face of his best friend, “I am in one piece and I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t have.”

“Jesus, Steve. You look awful.”

Steve lets out a tired laugh, “That ain’t what you were saying last night.”

Bucky fights down the blush that threatens to expose him and cocks a smile at his friend, “In your dreams, Captain America.”

Steve smiles knowing that Bucky only refers to him as ‘Captain America’ when he’s joking around. That’s one of the things that Steve’s always liked about his best friend, Peggy Carter, and his team. They never think of him as the revered Captain America. To his friends, he is simply Steven G. Rogers, a man that’s more than a shield; more than a soldier.

The pair walk to the elevator. Steve tugs on the collar of his uniform uncomfortably. The dried sweat and dirt makes his skin itch for a spray of shower water.

Thanks to Jarvis the elevator automatically begins moving towards their floor.

Steve eyes Bucky from the corner of the elevator. His friend seems to be lost deep in thought. “So what? You didn’t miss me?” Steve bumps his shoulder into Bucky’s metal one.

“Miss your ugly mug? Nah, it was nice to have a break from you mother-henning me for a while.” Bucky lies.

Steve at least as the decency to look a bit guilty, “I’ve gotten better at that!”

Bucky laughs.

To Steve, the sound pushes a little bit of life back into both of their weary eyes. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

Bucky shakes his head, “I’m sure if anything happened while you were gone, you’d hear about it one way or another.”

Steve scoffs, “You’d be surprised what kind of secrets they keep hidden around here.”

Bucky doesn’t have anything to say to that. He’s just glad that Steve’s back home in one piece and safe. He lets the relief wash through him; lets its gentle hands work the knots of his uptight muscles until he stands unguarded.

“It doesn’t take a genetically enhanced super-soldier to see that you’re shit tired. Go take a long nap, and we can catch up later.” Bucky says.

“Now who’s the mother hen?” Steve grins.

When the elevator arrives at its destination, Steve barley has enough energy to keep his eyes open. He contemplates just sleeping standing up in the hallway. He could totally do it.

“Okay big guy, lets go.” Bucky encourages with one hand on the small of Steve’s back.

Bucky’s metal hand slams a fist-sized hole into the wall when Steve sways into him on their way to his bedroom.

“Jesus, Steve!” Bucky mutters, flexing the fingers of his left hand out of habit.

“Your fault.” Steve drawls, his feet scrambling for purchase.

Bucky scoffs and practically lifts his friend to his feet again, “You’re such a punk. I remember you before the serum… you acted like this when you were drunk.”

“I wish,” Steve huffs and rests his forehead against the thick wood of his bedroom door. “Sadly, I can’t get drunk anymore. Found that out the hard way when I couldn’t get piss drunk back in ‘44.”

“Why’d you need to get drunk?” Bucky puts his hand on the doorknob and waits for Steve to move out of the way. “If you don’t move, you’re gonna fall forward when the door opens and I’m not gonna catch you.”

“You died in ’44.” Is all Steve says.

No words. Bucky moves silently and gently wraps one arm around Steve’s middle. He opens the door and just as he predicted, Steve all but stumbles forward like a drunk. Untrue to his word, Bucky pulls him back and rights him on his feet.

The ex-assassin shoves Steve against the doorframe and mutters, “Wait here.” He enters the room and begins to check it for bugs and traps. “Take off your shoes or something.” Bucky says, cringing at the state of Steve’s mud-caked boots and tattered uniform.

The Winter Soldier of all people knows how uncomfortable it is to sleep in the same clothes you fought and killed in; all the while trying to convince yourself that you are the good guy in the fight.

He goes back to Steve who is struggling to get his boots off and drags the taller and heavier man towards the bed, “You’re doing this on purpose!” Bucky grits out, roughly shaking Steve’s boneless form.

Steve just yawns obnoxiously and wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck like a monkey, “Doin’ what on purpose, Buck?”

“Please,” Bucky says dryly accompanying it with a roll of his eyes, “You fuckin’ stink!” He recoils from his friend. “Maybe I’ll just drag your ass to the shower and leave you there.”

Bucky drags Steve to his bed and practically throws the super soldier onto it.

Steve buries his face into his comforters and lets out a happy sigh. He lets out a muffled string of words and Bucky only manages to catch two, “Missed you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky shoves Steve onto his back and begins unbuckling Steve’s chunky utility belt. “Stop tryin’ to sweet talk me, Rogers. You’re only sayin’ that so that I don’t write on your dumb face while you sleep like that time back when we were six-teen.”

“I remember that!” Steve slurs and lets himself be man-handled. “I was so mad at you. I didn’t get that stuff off my forehead for half a week. I got beat up for that.”

Bucky slips the belt out from under the uncoordinated Captain and lets it drop to the floor with a loud ‘clunk!’ “But I stepped in and saved your scrawny ass. Again.”

Steve’s suit is not meant to be taken off while laying down, so Bucky ends up straddled over Steve out of frustration, legs on either side of his friends narrow hips.

Steve flails his arms, “I totally had it! I didn’t need you to step in. I had em’ on the run.”

“Sure you did.” Bucky rolls his eyes again. Frustrated he tugs harshly on the silver star across Steve’s chest, “Work with me here!”

“Wha? Just leave it on.”

Bucky’s metal arm whirrs and he drags the blonde to a sitting position with one hand bracing the back of his neck and works Steve’s arms through the suit. Steve helps a little, not enough in Bucky’s opinion. He moves off his friend only in order to yank Steve’s pants down over his ridiculous calves. Bucky throws the suit carelessly on the floor, not caring at all where it ends up. Not his problem.

Steve’s hand shoots out and grips his metal wrist, stopping Bucky from getting off of the bed.

“What?” Bucky asks, hoping that Steve is too out of it to see how deeply he’s blushing.

“I did miss you,” the blonde says in a clear voice. His blue eyes are closed and there is dirt smudged on his cheek and along the line where his suit’s collar rested.

Doing nothing good for the blush he’s sporting, Bucky clears his throat before answering, “Missed you too, punk.”

“Are you gonna’ kiss me?”

Bucky blanches, “Am I… what?”

Steve shrugs and lets go of Bucky’s wrist, “I don’t know. Kinda’ looks like you want too. I would, but I think if I move right now, I’ll die.”

A small smile slips onto Bucky’s face and he leans down to press a very soft kiss to Steve’s lips. He shivers, having almost forgotten that they do this sometimes; that it’s okay to do this sometimes. It’s the twenty-first century after all.

“You’re always so dramatic,” he whispers against Steve’s lips.

“You know, Peggy Carter said the same exact thing to me.” Steve tips his head up just a fraction so that their lips meet again.

The kiss is sweet and simple. Nothing more and nothing less. 

“That Peggy Carter knows what she’s talking about.” Bucky swats Steve’s hand away. “Get some rest.”

“Are you going to sleep in here?” Steve says, his voice already slipping into a sleepy slur. He rolls over and smooshes his face against his pillow.

“No,” _I want to though._ Bucky throws the dark blue covers over the other man. “You really do reek.”

Steve makes a displeased noise and childishly throws the covers back off, “Rude.”

Though Steve can’t see him, Bucky grins and heads for the door, shutting it quietly behind him.

* * *

“Don’t use that!” Sam races over to where Steve is holding up a deep blue colored cloth clenched in his fist. The frayed edge of the Captain America shield peeks out from one of Steve’s knuckles. Sam wrenches Steve’s wrist away from the wet canvas and thinks about how he just single-handedly stopped World War III from happening.

Steve’s eyebrows creep to his hairline, “Hello to you too, Sam.”

Sam blurts, “Hi Steve. And that’s Barnes’s comfort blanket.” He takes the scrap from Steve and unfolds it in front of him. He shakes his head in confirmation, “Yeah, this is it.”

Steve raises one blonde eyebrow, “His what?”

Sam shoots him a look, “You mean you haven’t noticed Barnes dragging this thing around like a dog with his favorite chew toy?” He frowns, backpedaling, “Wait, that was a very bad analogy. Pretend that never came out of my mouth. Point is, the dude hasn’t been anywhere without it for the past week at least.”

“I haven’t been around the past week.” Steve’s gaze is glued onto the remains of his joke pillowcases, “This morning I found it on my floor near my bed. I thought it was from the rest of the pillowcases that I cut up to use for scrap.”

“Okay well basically this,” Sam shakes the fabric, “is Bucky’s blankie. Hey, no judgment from any of the other Avengers. Hell, I used to have one too,” he finishes proudly.

Steve still cant tear his gaze from the fabric in Sam’s hands, “Why this though?”

“Uh,” Sam levels Steve with ‘are-you-fucking-stupid’ eyes and says, “You should go ask him.”

“If it’s Bucky’s then why was it on my floor?”

Sam waves his arms around, “How should I know, man? I’m not Barnes. I don’t know why he does the things he does. I’ve really only seen him with it at night or whenever we have movie nights. He usually leaves it somewhere during the day.”

To Sam’s saving grace, fate chooses that moment to strike in the form of Natasha Romanoff. She saunters in from the door, pauses on her way to the elevator, and takes a good long look at both men. Her eyebrows draw together in what Steve can only assume is suspicion.

“What are you doing with James’s blanket?” She raises one polished brow at the duo.

Steve sputters, knowing how Natasha and Bucky have a weird protective brother-sister relationship that no one else other than maybe Clint understands. “I found it on my floor this morning by my bed. I picked it up to use as a paint mop. I didn’t know.” He chooses his words carefully.

She steps forward and the corners of her mouth quirk up, “He probably forgot to get it before you returned back and it probably fell out of your bed sometime last night or something.”

“Out of my bed?”

Natasha’s emerald eyes gleam, “You didn’t know that he’s been cuddling up in your sheets while you were away on your last mission?”

Steve shrugs and awkwardly blushes at the mental image, “Well now I do.”

The spy walks over to Sam and takes the blanket from him. Ignoring the imploring gazes from both men she raises the blanket up to Steve’s face. “Smell it.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Steve flails.

Natasha rolls her eyes because, _men._ “Come on, Rogers. When have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Try all those dates you set me on-,”

“Okay fine. But when have I ever steered James wrong?” She coos and Steve really can’t argue with that. “No tricks, just tell me what it smells like.”

Steve frowns and takes a hesitant sniff, like he’s expecting a foul prank. When nothing horrible attacks his senses he breathes in a little deeper, letting the scent poke and prod at his memory.

His frown turns into one of confusion. “It… smells like me… and carpet.”

Natasha smiles, her eyes bright with something Steve can’t distinguish. “That’s because James keeps it in your bed during the day time, so that it smells like you for when you’re not around. Its kind of like back in the old days when boyfriends used to give their varsity sports jackets to their high school girlfriends to snuggle with. I think.” She waves a dismissive hand, “I didn’t go to normal high school, I don’t know these things.”

Sam chimes, “No, that’s pretty accurate. Accept I think that some couples still swap clothes sometimes for the sake of smell and comfort.”

Steve looks back and forth between the both of them, suddenly feeling very embarrassed, “Bucky isn’t my boyfriend.”

Sam laughs and pats Steve hard on the shoulder, “Could’ve food us, man!”

Natasha nods in agreement with Sam and says to Steve, “He could be your boyfriend, if you two wanted. After all, your scent comforts him. You comfort him.”

Steve can’t fight the full on blush that spreads across his cheeks like butter on toast. It’s one thing to have this casual whatever thing with Bucky, but it is a whole other story to put some kind of label on it. Hell, Steve was still getting used to the fact that in this day and age, being in love with someone of the same gender is okay. Bucky is still getting used to emotions in general. Right now, they’re both just doing what feels right and safe.

“Cause, we got a betting pool going on to see how long you two can keep dancing around one another.” Sam bumps his shoulder into Steve’s.

“A betting pool?” Steve eyes his two teammates incredulously, “Seriously?”

Sam rolls his brown eyes and wiggles his eyebrows, “Yes seriously. We all just want you guys to be happy… preferably together. The betting pool is just a fun way for us to be involved without actually being involved.”

The blonde sighs and takes the blanket from Natasha’s hands. It’s soft and worn, and probably needs to be washed after spending the night on the floor. “I don’t think he’s ready for any kind of steady relationship.”

“That’s not your call to make.” Natasha counters, gaze unwavering.

Steve tugs on the collar of his shirt, unready to match the certainty in her eyes, “I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship. Honestly, I don’t really have much experience, and I have a pretty fucked up track record.”

Sam puts both of his hands on his hips, “And you think brain-washed Bucky is doing any better than you are? When he first started recovery he didn’t even know how to hold a damn fork. No one is saying that you have to rush things or put a label on anything.” Sam waves his hand in Natasha’s general direction, “We just think that it’s important and about damn time that you two emotionally stunted, grown-ass men are honest with yourselves and with each other.”

Steve sighs, “You’re right about the fork thing, which is why I can’t take advantage of him like this.”

“Steve, look at all of the progress he’s made! Among other things, he knows what H.Y.D.R.A. did to him, he knows its okay to say ‘no’ now.” Sam waves his arms about.

“He doesn’t seem to be bothered with how things are going between us right now. If he needs to talk to me, I trust that he will.” Steve shrugs and wishes that the floor would swallow him up.

“For a super soldier, you can be super dumb sometimes.” Natasha crosses her arms over her chest and taps her boot on the ground. “You can’t guess what someone else’s feelings are, Steve. You can’t make that call. It’s selfish. Keeping you both apart because you think it’s ‘best’ is actually only making things harder for the both of you. He’s willing to accept any affection you give him, right?” She plows on, “That’s because he’s basically an abused fighting dog that will never fully recover. He may seem content, but he’s not. He doesn’t know how much he’s allowed to take or ask from you. He’s confused about the boundaries between you both, and he’s scared of crossing one.”

“How do you know?” Steve asks, a little peeved.

All jokes aside, her steady gaze finally wavers, “Before Clint brought me in, I used to feel the same way. Being in the hands and at the mercy of bad people for so long will do that to you.”

Steve relaxes and eyes the pendant around Natasha’s neck. He rarely sees her without the simple arrow. He nods once and meets her eyes with his own. “Okay, I understand.”

The conversation takes a more somber tone. “Figure out what you want and then ask him what he wants.” Sam says and then adds, “And then you just go from there. Honestly, I think he spent all of two nights in his own bedroom while you were on duty. The rest of the time he was either in your bed or not sleeping at all. All I’m saying is that after cheating death, ice, time, and a secret evil organization, the last thing you’d want to do is waste more time.”

Sam claps his hand over Steve’s shoulder again, “Okay, now that’s over, I’m going to split. Got a lead over in Prague and when I get back, I’ve got a hot date.”

Steve smiles, “Really, with who?”

Sam waggles his eyebrows suggestively, “The cute girl who works at the front desk down at the VA.”

Rolling his eyes with fondness, Steve wishes Sam the best of luck and reminds him to check back in regularly while in Prague.

“Yes, momma Rogers.” Sam teases on his way out of the door.

“Talk to James,” is all Natasha says, before giving a curt nod and heading for the elevator.

* * *

“How was the shooting range?” Steve shoves his hands in the front pockets of his khakis and leans his giant shoulder against the kitchen wall.  


Bucky lifts his glass of water to his lips and takes a long sip. “It was pretty good. Clint was with me… if that’s what you were asking. I wasn’t alone.”

Steve eyes the moisture left behind from the glass that now coats Bucky’s bottom lip. “No, that wasn’t what I was asking. I meant it, Buck; I’m getting better with the mothering thing. I really just wanted to know how your day went, that’s all.”

It doesn’t escape Bucky’s attention that Steve’s locked onto his lips. They’re probably a little swollen and red from him worrying them between his teeth. He nods at Steve and polishes off his glass of water, placing it in the sink.

A million things run through Steve’s head while he’s perched against the doorframe. Yet he can’t seem to grab onto just one coherent thought to voice the things he wants to bring up with Bucky.

He was never good with these things. Relationships. Bucky was always the smooth talker of the two; he could charm ladies with an easy smile and a bat of his long dark eyelashes. Steve was the awkward guy who lived in the shadow of his best friend. He stands there and tries to think of what 1920’s Bucky would say in this situation, but it’s been so long and that part of Bucky Barnes is dead.

By the time Steve works up the courage to get anything out of his mouth Bucky beats him to it, “I’m going to go shower.”

Steve kind of hates himself afterwards but he simply replies, “Okay,” and resolves to talk to Bucky at a later time.

He doesn’t really know what to expect as he changes for bed later that night, but it’s not the hesitant knock on his closed door.

“Yeah?” He calls, slipping a tank top over his head.

Bucky opens the door and creeps in, eyes darting all over the room to check the perimeter before finally landing on Steve. He’s dressed for bed in soft track pants and a loose tee shirt. His feet are bare and his hair is tied back in a small bun at the nape of his neck.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve smiles and moves distractedly around the room.

“Hi,” Bucky responds and shifts from foot to foot.

Picking up on the tightness of Bucky’s voice and stance, Steve sneaks a peek over at him from where he’s setting his alarm clock. Bucky is still glancing around the room, though he isn’t moving anywhere.

“Did you want to tell me something?” Steve offers.

“Uh,” Bucky awkwardly begins.

Hating that Bucky feels the need to have an excuse to come into his room or that he feels like it’s not safe for him to tell Steve anything in the world, Steve doesn’t wait for Bucky to finish his sentence and pulls back his bed covers, reaching underneath them.

He produces the dull red cloth with the Captain America shield on it.

“We’re you lookin’ for this?” He tosses it to Bucky who catches it easily.

Steve almost wishes that he hadn’t though because Bucky looks at him like a deer in headlights. Honestly, the emotion on his friend’s face is highly preferred to the dead-behind-the-eyes look that he used to default to when he first moved in with the Avengers. Like Sam said, he’s progressing.

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He just stands there with the blanket gripped loosely in his hand.

“It’s okay.” Steve promises. “Really, it’s okay. Natasha told me all about it.” Steve grimaces, knowing it’s his bad wording that’s caused Bucky’s look of utter betrayal. “No it’s not like that, don’t blame Nat. I found it on my floor this morning by my bed and I thought it was one of my paint rags.” He laughs, “Sam and Nat stopped me about four seconds before I was going to smear it across a canvas.”

“Oh.” Bucky shuffles, “It’s… I just…”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Buck. It’s totally okay if you sleep in here while I’m gone.” Steve walks over to where Bucky’s standing, but he keeps his distance. “If you don’t wanna’, you don’t even have to sleep in your own bed ever again. And uh, you can always sleep in here with me too.” Steve rubs his hand across the back of his neck, suddenly feeling very exposed in just a tank top. It’s now or never, he thinks, _Damn Natasha._ “I mean… if you want too. I have no objections. Ever.” He draws in a big breath, “I mean not to sound forward or anything, I just want you to feel comfortable-,”

“-Can I kiss you?” Bucky interrupts, blinking at Steve.

“R-right now? Yes, I mean wait. Uh, you can always kiss me. Whenever you want.” Steve wishes he could just bury himself in his bed sheets and never emerge. God, he’s not good at this. “You don’t have to ask. I want you too.”

Buck doesn’t verbally reply but he walks over and kisses Steve firmly on his lips. The sensation is familiar. The way their lips slot together. The warmth, the pressure, the pin-pricks of excitement tinged with nervousness are all familiar to Steve. But up until now, he’s never really gotten the chance to focus in on what it exactly feels like to kiss Bucky.

They stand like that for a few seconds before one of them, neither knows which, deepens the kiss just a little. It’s nice. It’s the beginnings of a sweet passion.

Steve thinks that he could probably stand here and kiss Bucky for the rest of his life. His best friend’s bitten lips are a little dry, but they’re warm and they’re soft. Like if he could right then and there, he would take great detail in mapping out every curve, every inch, and every scar, both good and bad, that mar Bucky’s skin. He would memorize them, so that no one would ever forget.

He thinks back to what Sam said to him earlier about surviving through ice, time, and death just to come out on the other side and still skirt nervously around the feelings he has for Bucky. The feelings he knows to be true.

“What?” Bucky asks when Steve all but sighs into a kiss.

Steve pulls back and reaches up to thread his fingers through the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck. “I was just thinking about how I really like you. I’ve always liked you. Then and now.”

Bucky looks away and rests his forehead against Steve’s collarbone. It’s his turn to sigh, “I think that I really like you too. I think that I did before… I was… you know. I think I always liked you back before the war, I just didn’t know how to say it before.”

“It’s okay,” Steve wraps his free hand around Bucky’s waist and holds him, gentle. “I’ve known that you at least liked me,” he says referring to whatever the hell they were before tonight, “But I’ve been thinking about it and I never really told you exactly how I feel. So, I’m sorry for that… if things have been confusing.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s skin. He closes his eyes against the long fingers softly scratching back forth across the base of his skull. His hands loop around Steve’s waist.

“But, I want you to know that I really… like you.” Steve finishes lamely. “You mean a lot to me.”

“I think you’re looking for a different ‘L’ word, Stevie.”

Steve chuckles and moves them toward the bed, “Am I?” He asks playfully jostling Bucky.

“Fine, jerk. I like you too,” Bucky replies, putting extra emphasis on the ‘like’.

Steve dumps them both on the bed, completely ignoring Bucky’s groan of pain when Steve flops down on top of him. “I think I meant the other ‘L’ word.” He hides his face in the crook between Bucky’s neck and his metal shoulder. The cold of the metal feels good against Steve’s too hot skin.

“Then say it.”

Steve kisses the skin right over Bucky’s pulse and gives a delighted chuckle when Bucky shivers underneath him. “Are you gonna’ say it back?”

When Bucky speaks, Steve can feel the vibrations travel up his vocal chords and through his chest. Unable to resist, he traces a pattern with his finger up and down the front of Bucky’s neck.

“Are you playing coy, Steve… or are you just stupid?” Bucky growls.

“Nat said I was dumb today, so maybe a little bit of both?” Steve boldly latches onto the bottom of Bucky’s earlobe, nipping at it once.

“Hey, don’t do that to me.” Bucky says firmly, trying not to think about his hot best friend sprawled across him and doing dirty things to his ear.

“You don’t like it?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Steve.”

“Okay, okay, you caught me.” Steve buries his nose back into the crook of Bucky’s neck. “Why do you like the way I smell?”

Bucky sputters trapped under 200lbs of Rogers, “Because I like you, obviously,” he rushes. “You’re just… comfortable. I feel safe or whatever. It’s easier to sleep, I-,” He wiggles around aggressively, trying to throw his friend off before giving up and going slack, “-Steve fuckin’ hell. Okay, I love you. Go fuck yourself.”

Steve sighs happily, “I love you, too. I’m in love with you.”

“Me too.” Bucky says.

“You’re in love with yourself?” Steve frowns, mischief gleaming in his eyes.

“No, you asshole, I’m in love with you.” Bucky tosses his head away from Steve and stares at the wall.

Steve is quiet for all of a moment before saying, “Are you… blushing?”

Bucky groans completely blushing, “No. I’m not blushing. You suck, you know that? You couldn’t even work up the balls to say that you love me first.”

“Hey!” Steve springs up and stares Bucky straight in the eye, “First of all, you’re totally blushing, and second of all, I said it eventually! I said it back, that’s what’s important. I just felt like… you already knew that I love you so I didn’t really have to voice it.”

Bucky stares at him wildly, “How the hell would I know that?”

“You’re smart.”

“And Natasha is right, you are stupid, because how was I supposed to know that you felt anything more towards me other than a couple ‘a kisses here and there.”

To prove his point, Steve kisses Bucky straight on the lips, “Of course I feel more than that.”

“Well… how was I supposed to know,” Bucky grumbles and lets himself be kissed, doing his best to smother the heat pooling in his groin.

“I’m sorry,” Steve tries, “really… I’m sorry. We’re okay now though. We’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Bucky makes a content sound and shifts so that Steve’s knee isn’t millimeters away from castrating him, “We’re okay.”

“What are you-?” Steve tries to shift with him, unsure of where Bucky needs him to be.

“No, wait- Don’t move-,” Bucky wiggles around some more.

Steve wiggles around some more, “-Wait, ouch… hold on, where-? What are you trying to-,” There’s something really hard digging into the crook of his hipbone and it’s getting painful. Assuming it’s Bucky’s own protruding hip bone he reaches down to shove Bucky out from under him, “What the f-,”

Bucky flies at least two feet in the air at the sudden intrusion, “Steve!”

Steve blushes the deepest shade of crimson he thinks is humanly possible. “That… wasn’t your hip bone-,”

“Shut up,” Bucky abashedly covers his own flushed face with both of his hands. “Don’t fucking say anything.”

Steve laughs into Bucky’s ribs, now lying so that only their legs overlap and Steve is on his stomach. “It’s okay. Now I completely understand why they call it a ‘boner’ in the twenty-first century.”

“I hate you.”

Steve sobers up a little, remembering that this Bucky Barnes is not the same voyeuristic and shameless man he used to be. He leans on his elbows and carefully pries Bucky’s hands away from his ashen face.

“Well, I love you,” he says and kisses Bucky’s cheek. “All of you, even your-,”

“-Don’t!”

“-Boner.”

Bucky sighs, “Thanks.”

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s middle and rests his head on the dip of his lover’s shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

After a few minutes of silence Bucky speaks up, “Uh, Steve. You’re not gonna’… do… anything?”

Without missing a beat, “Not if you don’t want me too.”

Bucky hums, “Okay.”

“What do you want?”

Bucky takes a few minutes to mull the question over. Its something he’s had to get used too. The audacity and privilege of being allowed to want something, when he’s been denied anything and everything for so long has been the hardest adjustment for him.

“I… want to take things slow.” Bucky decides.

“Okay, I do too.” Steve agrees. “What do you want right now?”

Bucky leans over and grabs his blue blanket from the corner of the bed. He pulls Steve up so that their bodies are facing one another, curved like two half moons colliding at their ends. Bucky buries his face in the hollow of Steve’s throat, his blanket cushioned between them and throws one of his legs over Steve’s hip. “Just this.” He says voice muffled by the tattered blankie, “Just this.”

“This I can most definitely do.” Steve says, scooping Bucky up in his arms. “Jarvis?”

“Yes, Captain?” The AI replies. “Would you like me to get the lights?”

“Yes, thank you, Jarvis.”

“You are welcome,” Jarvis says with the flick of the light switch.

* * *

The next week, Sam and Natasha tie in the betting pool. They collect their winnings, smiling coyly at each other from across the room. All is fair in love and war.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr!   
> Codenamesergeantbarnes.tumblr.com
> 
> Leave some love!


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